Ay: Mart 2024

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This story is fifty years old. Places, characters, values and cultures try to reflect that period. This is basically a love story that turns erotic. The pace and the buildup are necessarily slow sometimes, in tune with that period. If you like a touch of innocence, the slow build up and the explosive erotic love between two novices, then, read on.!

Sekhar’s narrative

My name is Sekhar. I was all of eighteen years when the events of this story happened. I come from a large family that comprised of my father, mother, three sons and three daughters. My father was working as a Manager in a private firm and my mother was a housewife. My eldest sister was already married and I had another sister who was elder to me. The rest were all younger. We were a typical middle class family and lived in Hyderabad.

It was my first day at the all male college where I joined the B.SC course. It was all a cultural shock – the transition from school to college which also involved a change of medium of instruction from my mother tongue Telugu to English. Add to this the feeling of growing up suddenly – as a school going teen everybody treated you like a child. But the moment you are in college everybody called you a young man. Well! It was exhilarating but also confusing!

On the very first day I made a few friends among whom Ramana and Krishna became my good friends. Ramana’s father was an engineer with the state government and was working at a project site. Ramana with his mother and younger sister stayed at a rented house, quite close to our home. His father visited them once a month.

Krishna’s family comprised of his parents and a younger brother. His father worked for the electricity board. They too stayed close to our home. We shared a common middle class background and values and had loving, caring but strict parents. We were a happy lot.

All three of us were in the same class because we were all M.P.C group. For the uninitiated, M.P.C stood for Mathematics, Physics and Chemistry. Maths was undoubtedly my most favored subject and I did pretty well in that. Teachers who taught us were called “Lecturers” those days. We had male lecturers teaching us Mathematics and Chemistry whom we addressed as ‘Sir’ and we had a female lecturer who taught us Physics whom we addressed ‘Madame’.

While I and Krishna were evenly matched, Ramana who was older than us by two years was weaker at studies and better at sports. (He failed in his school final earlier and that was how he ended up as our classmate.) After the first monthly tests at the college, Ramana fared rather poorly in physics and maths and his father insisted that he take ‘ private tuition’.

Those were the days when the teachers (whether at school or college) were paid very low salaries. Many of them had to supplement their incomes by giving private tuition. Private tuition was an arrangement whereby students who were weak in a subject were given extra coaching, after school hours, usually at teachers’ home, for additional fees. Some teachers gave private tuition and some students took them.

Ramana started taking tuition in Physics from our Kamala Madame.

Kamala Madame was our Physics lecturer. She was a very popular, well respected teacher. People said that she was the best Physics lecturer the college ever had. Her ability to explain the complicated laws and concepts of physics with simple day to day examples in easy to understand terms was phenomenal. She was well respected by the faculty and the Principal. The students were in awe of her.

Kamala Madame was aged about thirty five years. She was about 5’5″ tall, medium fair in complexion and had very plain features. She always dressed conservatively in simple and cheap cotton saris that hid her body completely. Her black hair was always oiled and combed neatly in a single plait. She wore a very thin gold chain around her neck and a few colored glass bangles above her wrists. Kamala Madame elicited only one reaction from young or old – respect.

She was a spinster. Her father had died in an accident when she was in the final year of M.Sc. It was a big blow to her family that comprised of her mother and two younger sisters and an old, dependent grandmother. Immediately after her M.Sc, she joined our college as a lecturer. She was the sole bread winner for the family and took on all the family responsibilities.

She made sure that her younger sisters had good education and were married off decently. Her grandmother passed away a couple of years back. By the time she was free from her responsibilities; she lost all interest in marriage and remained a spinster. She now lived alone with her mother in a small rented house, close to the college.

Kamala Madame conducted some private tuition at home, to earn additional money to pay off the loans she took to perform the marriages of her sisters.

Ramana used to go for tuition daily from 6pm to 7pm except on Sundays. His understanding and performance in Physics improved dramatically. He started brainwashing us to take the tuition Gaziantep Eve Gelen Escort too, though we did alright in the subject. We wanted to improve further in the subject too. Krishna’s father said no to the idea while my father gave me permission. So, I joined my friend Ramana at the tuition.

Kamala Madame was surprised when I joined the private tuition.

“Sekhar, you are doing alright in Physics. Why do you want tuition?” She asked me.

“I want to improve further Madame, I want to do very well,” I said, a little shyly.

“Good, we will see,” she smiled.

Every evening Ramana and I would leave my home by 5-45pm. We would go to tuition on our bicycles. Those days students used bicycles or city bus. Cycle Rickshaws were the most popular mode of transport for families. There were no Auto Rickshaws and very few motor cycles. Scooters were yet to make a debut and Cars were very few and only for the rich. There was hardly any pollution due to automobiles!!

We were about eight boys in our tuition batch. Very soon, it was obvious that I was the best of this lot. Madame was really an expert teacher. She used to explain the concepts so well with day to day and live examples, often in our mother tongue Telugu. I used to follow her every single word with rapt attention.

Her voice was soft and melodious and she never raised it nor rebuked anyone. She was an embodiment of patience and never tired of repeating when someone didn’t understand. I started loving the tuition so much that I wouldn’t miss it for anything.

It is time to tell you a little more about me. I was considered an above average intelligent boy with average good looks. I was tall around 5’9″, very slim and fair to medium complexion. I played cricket and badminton and was a healthy lad. I was not very studious and loved to see movies with friends. Those days there were no TVs and the only entertainment at home was Radio. Thus most of us were fond of music – specially, Hindi filmy music from Radio Ceylon and the Binaca Geetmala of Amin Sayani.

Sex was a taboo for everybody those days. Even the word was never uttered in public and more so in the conservative middle class. It was not seen in movies, not heard on radio and not read in magazines or news papers. However, some students, mostly seniors, talked about it, lewdly and openly sometimes. When that happened, the rest of us heard them out with rapt attention and tried to learn.

That was how we basically learned about sex, about girls, the sex organs, the process and the methods – an assortment of fact and fiction, more of the later, perhaps. I had the natural sexual instincts of a youth of my age and responded to them in a secretive way.

I was essentially a boob man and every time I saw a girl or woman, my eyes would go to her boobs. If they were big and attractive, I tried undressing them in mind and visualizing them. As any other healthy lad, I masturbated often, in the privacy of our toilet or bathroom, fantasizing the boobs and thighs of my favorite heroines.

In short, I was like any other average young student of that time, no different.

After about a month of tuition, I became the blue eyed boy of Kamala Madame. She would occasionally ask me tough questions and pat me on the back when I answered them. She would ask me, sometimes, to explain a law or concept to others; allowing me to use the black board when necessary. Let me explain how she conducted her tuition.

In the front room of her home, she had the black board fixed on the wall. Madame would sit on a steel folding chair a little to the right of the board and facing us. More often than not, she would teach us standing and write on the black board with a piece of chalk. We sat on a mat spread on the floor, cross legged and facing her and the board.

Madame always dressed in simple cotton saris and she had this habit of double draping her pallu, (that portion of sari over her blouse) at the college. But at her home, she would drape her pallu only once over her blouse. I recall that one day when she turned to the board to write something, I noticed, for the first time, that a small strip of her back between the bottom border of the blouse and the sari covering her lower back and waist was visible.

As I looked at that bare strip, hardly inch wide, I got excited. It was the first time that I looked at kamala Madame as a woman. I cursed myself for such sinful thoughts and shifted my eyes to the blackboard. But I felt something changed in me that moment.

My eyes started looking for any exposed parts, however small the exposure was! Thus, I realized that Madame had nicely shaped hands with slim wrists and long fingers. Even the simple colored glass bangles on her wrists looked attractive and she had smooth and blemish less skin.

Later that night, in the privacy of my bed, my thoughts returned to Kamala Madame. For the first time, I thought of her not as my teacher; but as a woman. I knew it was wrong to think of my teacher in those lines but I was helpless. Madame had nice smooth skin. Her voice was soft and gentle.

She was genuinely fond of me. I was very fond of her and never missed her classes and tuition. She was a very nice woman, respected by one and all for the great sacrifices she made for her family. I slept that night with my heart full of love for Kamala Madame.

Things were different from the next day. By careful observation at the tuition, I learned several things. She had fair sized boobs. She had deliberately hidden their size and shape by means of loose and unattractively tailored blouses.

I came to this important conclusion, by stealing several glances at what was hidden by her pallu from various angles. As a boob man, this discovery excited me far more and my love for her had gone up by several notches.

She wore her sari such a way that it hid her body and its curves. I was sure of that. My imagination would run wild trying to imagine Madame’s thighs and buttocks. Very soon I reached the stage where I masturbated with only Kamala Madame in my fantasies.

One evening when the tuition finished I could see that Madame looked very tired.

“Madame, are you alright?” I enquired before leaving.

“Yes, I am okay. I am a little feverish. Sekhar! Could you do me a favor? Go to medical shop and get me a couple of Aspro tablets.”

As she gave me a rupee note her fingers touched mine and sent an electric shock through me.

I quickly returned with the tablets and gave them to her. While handing over change to her I deliberately touched her soft palm with my fingers. She thanked me and gave me a pat on the back. I was in seventh heaven. I bid her a good night and left.

Next day Madame did not come to the college. When we went to check in the staff room we were told by another lecturer that she was on sick leave. That afternoon I had the last period free. I went to Madame’s house along with Ramana. The door was closed and a piece of thick paper board with “No Tuition” written on it was hung on the door. I was truly worried about Madame’s health. Ramana said that we should leave. I said let’s find out if Madame needed any help.

I knocked at the door. After a minute or two, her mother opened the door.

“We have come to see Madame. How is she?” I asked, rather boldly.

“She has high fever. I do not know what to do,” she sounded worried.

We walked in and the old lady took us to Madame’s room. She lay on a single cot with a thin mattress and looked very sick.

I called out softly, “Madame.” There was no response. I was truly worried. I stepped forward and touched her hand just above the wrist. It was very hot. I felt her forehead with my palm. It was obvious that she had a very high fever.

“Do you have a thermometer?” I asked the old lady. She nodded in the negative.

“Don’t worry. We will bring the doctor.” I reassured her.

We went to the residence of my family doctor and explained the situation to him. He was a good friend of my father too and knew me well. He accompanied me to Kamala Madame’s house, while Ramana had to go home due to some urgent work.

Doctor Sharma examined her and checked her temperature. She had a high 104F. He said he would give her an injection to bring down the fever. He wrote out the prescription and I rushed to the only Medical shop in our area on my bicycle and bought the injection and the tablets. This shop owner was known to my father and we had an account with the shop. My father used to clear the bills once a month.

There were no credit cards those days but everyone gave credit- grocer, medical shop, milkman, washerman – everybody. And it was an accepted practice that one would settle the bills during the first week of every month for the previous month. Defaults were unheard of, those were the days people trusted each other more as a rule than exception!

The doctor gave Madame the injection. The tablets were to be given thrice a day. She should be given only milk and fresh fruit juice. After the temperature comes down, she can have bread or idli (rice cake). He said that she would be better by next day and asked me to inform him about her condition then. The old lady thanked the doctor and offered to pay the doctor’s visiting fees but he declined and left.

I sat for an hour along with the old lady in the front room. She thanked me profusely for what I have done and I was embarrassed. I mumbled something about all students liking Kamala Madame.

“I would go home now. I could come back after dinner and sleep here tonight, if you like. That way you are not alone with her and should anything be needed I would be readily available.” I offered.

“If you could do that, it would be nice,” she sounded genuinely relieved at my offer.

Both my parents were very helpful in nature and they inculcated the spirit of service into us right from our childhood. So, when I explained the situation to my mother, she readily gave me permission. After an early dinner I went to Kamala Madame’s house. Mother gave me some sweet lime for Madame.

By ten pm her temperature reduced somewhat. Her mother said Madame woke up around 8pm and had some milk. She was back in her state of fever induced sleep. The old lady laid a mat and a pillow for me on the floor next to Madame’s bed. I told her not to worry and go to bed. She left after asking me to wake her up when needed.

I sat on the floor close to her bed and looked at her. As the fever reduced she was sweating a bit. I took out my hand kerchief and gently wiped her brow with it. As she lay there with fever she looked so helpless and vulnerable. She who took such good care of her family, she who took such good care of hundreds of students over the years, she who was loved and respected by one and all; she lay helpless now with high fever.

My heart filled up with immense love for my teacher.

I kept dozing off now and then. Around midnight Madame opened her eyes drowsily and mumbled, “Water.” I poured some water from the jug into the stainless steel glass. As Madame opened her eyes and made to raise and sit up on the bed, I restrained her. When it registered on her who it was, she looked surprised but was too weak to respond.

I sat next to her on the bed, with my right hand behind her and supporting her, she raised herself slowly into a sitting position. With my left hand I brought the glass close to her lips and she took a few sips, haltingly. Slowly she drank the water and then nodded to me to signal that she wanted no more. I helped her to lay her head slowly and gently on the pillow again.

“Madame, have some milk or fruit juice please, you are very weak,” I said.

“Fruit Juice,” she mumbled.

Earlier that night, her mother had extracted the juice from some of the sweet lime and left that in a glass. It was there on a small stool close to the bed.

I once again helped Madame into a sitting position. This time she sat on the edge of the bed with her feet resting on the floor, as I supported her. I sat next to Madame, on her left side and my right hand behind her and holding her right shoulder. With the glass in my left hand, I brought the glass of fruit juice to her lips.

She started taking the juice, a sip at a time. I was suddenly conscious that my right thigh and her left thigh were in contact and our flanks were touching too. Her left shoulder was resting on my chest and a few strands of her black hairs were caressing my right cheek. This proximity to her filled me with a strange sensation, the like of which I never experienced earlier in my young life.

It took a while for her to finish drinking her juice and I didn’t mind it at all! When she finished, I gently wiped the corners of her mouth with my kerchief and felt my finger tip brush fleetingly against her lower lip.

As she lay back with her head on the pillow, she gently squeezed my hand and whispered,” Thank you, Sekhar.” I was on the moon! I actually blushed!

As she went back to sleep, I sat on the mat on the floor and resting my right cheek on the edge of her bed, closed my eyes. In a few minutes I drifted into sleep.

Around four in the morning her mother peeped in to check on her daughter. She found her fast asleep and looking much better. The boy was sleeping too, his cheek resting on the edge of the bed. Kamala was turned towards him and her right hand was resting on his other cheek and her left hand rested on top of his head.

They looked so peaceful, the old lady thought. They could be a mother and a son – no; perhaps he was a little older for that. A brother and a sister – yes, a brother that kamala longed for but never had!! With such tender thoughts the old lady left the room.

A few minutes later Kamala woke up. Seeing Sekhar sleeping thus, her heart filled up with tender love for this caring boy. She mussed his hair a little with her left hand and caressed his cheek with her right hand. She could feel a few hairs there, a shy growth of a teenager. His left hand was resting on the edge of the bed and holding it there for support.

Kamala took her right hand away from his cheek and covered his hand with hers. His hand was large and warm to her touch. It was harder than hers and felt stronger; a man’s hand. She liked the feel of hairs on the back of his hands. She entwined her fingers with his and felt strangely at peace, as she drifted back to sleep.

Sometime later, he woke up and found himself thus. He felt strangely excited finding their hands holding each other with their fingers entwined. He loved her left hand resting on his head. It was such an intimate gesture to him conveying her affection for him. He felt so happy and contended that he drifted back to sleep soon.

That was the night I fell in love with my Kamala teacher, madly and irrevocably.

Next morning, I was woken up around six by the old lady. Kamala Madame was still asleep. I went home after assuring the lady that I would come back in the evening. I was stiff and tired but I was happy; very happy. That afternoon I bunked classes, went home and slept like a log for a couple of hours. Come evening and I was back at Madame’s home, the ‘no tuition’ board still hanging there.

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